A Chicago story
Diesel shook his head. This was ridiculous. What the hell was he still doing here? He looked at his watch. She was late. This wasn’t even his idea and he was the one getting stood up? He was never doing this again. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, contemplating how much longer he should wait when his phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he broke into a knowing smile: this was the call he was hoping for. He answered and held the phone up to his ear. “She backed out, didn’t she?”
“I am so sorry,” Shiloh said, struggling with something on the other end of the phone. “I texted Candace to ask her how it was going and she called me drunk as shit and obviously not with you, and I—”
“Thank God,” he interrupted, standing up off his motorcycle. “I was starting to piss off the valet.” The man in question glared up from his book, and Diesel made a vulgar gesture at him with his finger. He then hooked that finger in the knot of his tie and pulled it loose.
“Oh my—you’re still waiting?” she asked, horrified. “Diesel, why—”
“High hopes, I guess,” he lied, swinging his leg over the bike and lifting the kickstand. “Besides, I’m craving Vin Hoa’s, and this tie’s giving me hives.”
Shiloh scoffed. “Bullshit.”
He chuckled and put the key in the ignition. “Eggrolls or the Tuesday special?”
She sighed. “Tell Vinnie to surprise me. He knows what I like.”
"Oh. I didn’t know you were that close.”
“Shut up,” she laughed, but he could feel her blush through the phone. “I should be off soon. I’ll bring the beer.”
“It’s a date.” He hung up before she could cuss him out for throwing that in her face – the whole blind date thing was her idea, after all – and he shoved the phone back in his pocket. He sighed, a content smile on his face as he put his helmet on. Not that she’d ever know, but he’d pick beer and Chinese in front of the TV with her over fancy dining with some carb-counting, partygoing Insta-model any day. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to it in the first place. Probably because he’d been horny and drunk when Shiloh showed him her picture, and she was hot. He would’ve been a dumbass to say no.
It didn’t explain why he was so relieved that she never showed. Shouldn’t he be insulted? He shook his head, choosing to save that conversation for beer number four. He turned the key, his motorcycle revved to life, and he sped off towards their favorite take-out place.
xXxXx
Forty-five minutes later, Diesel pushed his apartment door open with his shoulder. He kicked it shut behind him and tossed his keys on the counter, clutching the brown paper bag in his hand. He made his way to his couch, kicking off his shoes as he went. His stomach growled as he dropped the bag full of Chinese on his coffee table, and he quickly shed his signature leather jacket. He tossed it across the back of the couch and looked at his watch. She should be here any minute.
He plopped down on the couch and turned the TV on, barely glancing at whatever show was on. He rubbed his hands together, ready to dig in and eat, but faltered. Maybe he should change before she got there. He’d never hear the end of it, eating Chinese takeout in a nice suit. She hardly ever saw him in anything but ripped up jeans and old blood- or oil-stained t-shirts or his gym clothes.
“Door, please,” he heard her call down the hallway.
Oh, well, he thought, too late now. He got up and rushed to the door, rolling up his sleeves as he went, and opened it just as she approached. “About damn time,” he greeted, a cocky smile on his face as he took the two six-packs from her. “I don’t think my broken heart could take getting stood up again.”
“Well, if I didn’t show up here, you’d show up at the bar begging for free I-had-a-bad-date drinks again,” she quipped with a sly smile. She shut the door behind her.
“Would they be ‘bad date’ drinks if the date never showed, though?” he asked, pulling two beers out by the neck and setting them down on the counter.
She pursed her lips, thinking about it for a moment. “Good point,” she agreed, shrugging off her leather jacket and dropping it on the floor. She crossed her arms, and he pretended not to notice her checking him out as he swung the fridge door open. He was suddenly very glad he didn’t opt to change. “Look at you,” she drawled as he slid the packs in the fridge. “White-collared dress shirt and slacks? I didn’t know you owned slacks.”
“Hell, me neither. You gotta admit though,” he said with his famous half-smirk. He swung the door shut and spun on the spot, making her hold back a smile. “I make these look damn good.”
“I won’t be admitting anything ‘til I’ve had a few of those,” she said and nodded towards the beers on the counter. She propped her foot up on the side table by the front door to untie her Converse. She flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder as it fell in her face, and his eyes couldn’t help but follow the roses on her shoulder to where they trailed off at her collarbone.
He snapped and pointed a finger at her. “Challenge accepted,” he said, quickly turning to grab their drinks before she caught him staring at her cleavage. She just had to wear those tank tops to work. She might’ve been one of his best friends, but he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit it was often distracting. It didn’t help that she had that damned tattoo practically drew his eyes right to them. She chuckled behind him and tossed her shoes to the floor.
“I really am sorry about Candace, Dee,” she said, walking up to him. He turned back around and handed her a beer, waving her off.
“No big deal,” he told her and jerked his head towards his living room. “C’mon, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
“Oh, no big deal?” she asked, following close behind him. “Says the man in a fancy suit and tie?”
“I’ve been burned before, Princess, and worse by you,” he told her and sat down. She groaned with a pained smile and walked around the table to the other side of the couch. She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Need I remind you of that time we had tickets for The Weeknd and—”
“How long is it gonna take for you to get over that?” she asked, running a shameful hand through her hair.
“However long it takes me to get you back for that,” he answered, rubbing his hands together before reaching into the takeout bag. “Now, shut up—” he pulled out the box with the letter “s” on it and set it down in front of her, “—and eat.”
“All right, fine. You don’t have to tell me twice,” she said, taking a sip of her beer before opening the flaps and “ooh-ing”. He pulled out his own order and dumped out the chopsticks and soy sauce packets. She gasped. “What? He gave me the fried rice and didn’t pack a fork?”
Diesel shrugged. “Maybe he’s gotten eco-conscious,” he suggested, plucking one of the dumplings out of the box with his chopsticks. “I’ve got forks. Go get one.”
With a huff, she got up and stomped back into the kitchen, muttering something she probably shouldn’t. He watched her go, his eyes just south of respectful. He shook his head at himself and stabbed another dumpling as she disappeared from view. Quit thinking about her like that just ‘cause you’re lonely, you asshole, he told himself and shoved the food in his mouth. She’s your best friend, she deserves better than that.
He stopped chewing for a minute, staring blankly at the TV. Maybe that’s why he was more relieved than he expected. Did he want "more than friends"? He gulped. Nah, I'm just lonely, he reasoned, reaching for his beer and taking two large swigs. Just lonely.
She walked back in and he dug around through his dumplings. It would never happen, anyway, he thought. Not in a million years. “What are we watching?” she asked and sat back down, a bit closer to him than she did before. He started to answer with an “I don’t know” when he saw what fork he had.
“Ah, ah, ah, what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. She stared at him, her fork halfway to her box. He pointed back to the kitchen. “Go get a different fork.”
“There aren’t any more in the drawer—”
“Then eat your shit with chopsticks like a normal person.” He clicked his in the air between them for emphasis.
Shiloh scoffed, half-laughing. “I can’t eat rice with chopsticks! What’s wrong with this one?”
“Not a damn thing,” he answered. “It’s the best salad fork I’ve ever had.”
She gaped at him. “Your best 'salad fork'?”
He nodded. “It’s wide-toothed, so I can get better-balanced bites.”
“Are you serious?” she asked through a laugh.
“Bet your sweet ass I’m serious.” She continued laughing, but he didn’t budge. “If there’s no more forks, use a spoon.”
“No, I don’t wanna eat with a spoon,” she refused. “That’s ridiculous!”
“You want ridiculous?” He snatched the fork out of her hand and shoved it in his mouth, making a show of slobbering all over it. She watched him, her eyes glittering with laughter before he pulled it out with a pop and pointed it at her. “Now, go get a spoon.”
“I work at a bar.” Before he could set it down out of her reach, she snatched it out of his hand. He watched, amazed, as she scooped a huge bite of her rice with it and ate it before he could steal it back. “Think I’m afraid of a little spit?” she asked, her mouth full.
He couldn’t help it: a grin broke out on his face and he shook his head at her while she chewed. “You have no idea where my mouth has been.”
“Ha,” she scoffed, gulping down her food before continuing, “it hasn’t been with Candace. That’s all that matters.”
He did a double-take. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Rumor has it she’s kind of a whore.”
“And you thought she’d be a good match for me?”
Shiloh shrugged, picking up her beer. “I mean, you’re kind of a whore too.” Diesel nearly dropped his chopsticks. “Figured you’d have a lot in common.” She took a swig and he cackled.
“Damn, Princess,” he drawled, leaning back into the couch. “You jack my favorite salad fork and you set me up with a whore.”
She winked at him. “What are best friends for?” He watched her take another bite, a stupid grin plastered on his face. She laughed through a mouthful of food, hiding her blushing face in her rose-covered shoulder while she licked the utensil clean.
If he liked that fork before tonight, then tonight he fell in love.
xXxXx
Stay tuned for more Shiloh and Diesel goodness. I'm cooking up something fun: their "how we met" story! Might take a while.... but it'll be worth it. I hope.
Read their steamy night at the ballroom here.
Watch them blow stuff up here.
Comments